The Best Laid Plans Part 1
by mabb5
Summary: After the Enterprise D crashed, Beverly & Jean-Luc as well as their friends try new relationships as well as pick up the pieces of their lives, and try to move on.  A/U picking up where Generations left off.


_**Author's Note: **__The crew of the Enterprise D try to find their way after their ship crashed on Veridian III. This is the first of two massive alternate universe novels about the possibilities of change in duty, life and love._

_There was a time after STAR TREK GENERATIONS, that this novel, part I, was actually canon. I started writing it about then and published it as a fanzine at that time. I always knew that Jean-Luc and Beverly were meant to be together. But clearly, there were issues and other interludes with other people that was between them. But once you get to the end of the second novel, they are together at the end. But as for the in between, well, I had this plot. You know what happens to writers when the "what ifs?" take hold of their brains. All of the other characters I cared about - Will, Deanna, Tom, Worf, Laren, Geordi, Data, Reg, Leah, Lwaxana, Nella, etc. -had parts to play too. So it took me about 20 years to write this romantic dramedy, but both THE BEST LAID PLANS and THE SKY IS THE LIMIT are complete. And they have been successfully revised and posted on fanfic._

_Both novels are adult and somewhat graphic. Be advised that certain characters are paired with different lovers here and there, but in the end, all do end up as they should. There is some violence done to major characters. No deaths of major characters, though. There is the occasional four letter word, but they are rare and appropriate for the situation - at least, I think so. _

_Please note that this alternate universe has nothing to do with my other major TNG novel ATTACHED MEANT and its sequels called DE-TACHED. That novel (etc.) is strictly P/C and is more character oriented. It is not as graphic though when it comes to the sex scenes._

_So, please feed the writer. Comments are appreciated._

_STAR TREK is Paramount's property but fandom's playground. The usual disclaimers apply._

_Revised April 1, 2013_

_**THE BEST LAID PLANS: CHAPTER 1: **_

_**Merde!**_

**=/\= =/\= =/\=**

"_Merde!"_

He cut the picture off of his sub-space terminal. The weary gentleman took a deep breath, continued to ignore his cup of tea by the edge of the desk, glanced about the book-cluttered small room of the cottage that he'd converted into his office, and then counted to ten in both Klingonese and ancient Greek. Now he was ready to resume his conversation with one Ensign Steck of Starfleet Command, Bureau of Travel, Earth Division.

His formal demeanor revived, he restored his communication to Starfleet Headquarters.

"Forgive the break, Ensign Steck."

"Of course, Sir."

The middle-aged Vulcan ensign was polite and unwavering in his attitude. For the Vulcan, this call was but one more disruption to his precisely plotted work schedule, for which he had factored in probabilities of such communications from officers such as Picard.

"As I was saying, Ensign, I wish to arrange passage to Gaudete II, in the Alawanir Nebula."

"I know where, Sir," the ensign mentioned.

"As soon as possible."

"Sir, I need more information before I may grant your request."

"Ensign…"

A Terran officer might have responded to the icy timbre to Picard's voice. Steck however, duly noted the apparent rise of emotional response by this caller, made the decision to record this observation in his duty log, and then blinked.

"Is this trip for Starfleet, Sir?"

"Not exactly, Ensign."

The ensign blinked again, as he made another note in his log.

"Sir, Starfleet regulations prohibits use of a Federation vessel by an officer of any rank, for travel on business not specifically related to Starfleet or without express permission from your superior officer, which is Rear-Admiral Alynna Nechayev, I believe." The ensign made another jot on his padd.

Picard spoke quickly before the ensign proceeded to read aloud more of the official list of Starfleet travel regulations.

"Ensign Steck…" He tried to sound completely reasonable, and appear to be totally logical in his request. "My research, that is my _potential_ research, could be of significant archaeological importance. If the excavations on Gaudete II fulfill their preliminary promises, the Daystrom Institute will receive all of my notes and discoveries. Naturally, this would then make it Starfleet business.

"Nevertheless, Sir, you are currently not involved with any project that falls within the purview of Starfleet. Therefore, your request can only be classified as a request of a personal, non- Starfleet nature."

Picard interrupted the Vulcan, again. "Ensign, I _still _hold the rank of _captain_ in Starfleet."

"I know that, Sir. Charges were dismissed against you and Commander Riker after the crash of the _USS Enterprise 1701-D._ You were not court-martialed."

Picard was beginning to find the Vulcan to be infuriatingly civil. He tugged down his blue sweater, more our of habit than the need to smooth his civilian clothing. He was striving to retain his calm.

"I merely wish to exercise the privilege of my rank. I am not asking that you re-route a ship for my convenience. I am simply requesting that you arrange transportation for me, by whatever currently scheduled and available means, whether it be by a _Galaxy_-class ship or _Oberth_-class ship or an _Antares_-class cargo carrier."

"Yes, Sir."

"Can you do it, Ensign?"

"Yes, Sir."

"_Now we're getting somewhere," _Picard muttered to himself. "Then do it, Ensign," he sternly ordered, formally.

"I cannot, Sir." He made another notation on his padd. "Will there be anything else, Sir?" The Vulcan wished to end this conversation since the projected allotted time for such conversations had almost expired.

This time Picard did not bother to hide his rising irritation with this Vulcan. "Ensign, you just stated that you can make the arrangements."

"Yes, Sir."

"Then why won't you comply with my order?"

"You are not currently on active duty status, Sir. According to Starfleet regulations, only active Starfleet personnel may request credit-free passage on Starfleet vessels. There are exceptions for personnel on leave which required that the request concern official Starfleet business, a personal emergency or extension of compassionate leave."

"Ensign Steck, I am on leave."

"No, Sir. You are on a voluntary leave of absence…"

"…at Woody Nakamura's request…" Picard muttered somewhat audibly.

"…And that is not the same as _being on leave_," Steck continued, not acknowledging Picard's uttered comment. "If I may quote Starfleet directive one-eighty-four-dash-seven…"

"I know the regulations, Ensign."

"Then you know that I cannot help you." The Vulcan paused then asked, "If you know the regulations, Sir, why did you ask?"

Picard took another breath before he answered the Vulcan. "Ensign, for at least the past two centuries, Starfleet officers with the rank of Full Commander or higher, have enjoyed the praxis of passage on Starfleet vessels regardless of their duty status. Being an ensign, and I am assuming new to your post, perhaps you are unaware of this practice."

"It is not in my regulations, Captain."

"There are numerous such usages that have yet to be formally ruled, Ensign. This is one of them. _Ask any admiral."_

Picard hoped that this Vulcan was not so dense that he wouldn't heed Picard's non-verbal warning about the privileges of rank and office.

Almost since the very beginning of Starfleet, senior officers had become accustomed to certain perks. More than one Admiral on occasion, had turned a Federation starship into his own personal pleasure ship for a side jaunt or two. Starfleet captains were used to going anywhere they wished on Starfleet vessels, regardless of their reasons. It was a courtesy from one captain to another. A captain's ranking in the unofficial pecking order of Starfleet was determined by the type of ship he or she captained. The more important the ship, the greater the favor to be owed.

Ever since he had attained the rank of captain, Picard had availed himself of such travel privileges, albeit rarely. Normally he had his own ship to take him where he needed to go, or at least put him near the vicinity of his destination.

But now, with the _Enterprise_ lost, and not knowing what _or if_ his next command would ever be, Picard had taken a leave of absence. More than one admiral had politely suggested that he do it. And Picard had uncharacteristically complied for there were personal issues he needed to address from the aftermath of Robert and Rene's death, to resolving at last his relationship with a certain flame-haired doctor.

However, a Vulcan with the soul of a bureaucrat, was not about to be distracted from the strict performance of his perceived official Starfleet duty.

"Is there anything else, Captain?"

Knowing he was being dismissed by a lackey, heroically refraining from telling the ensign his opinion of a bureaucrat, Picard asked, "Could you please give me a list of both civilian and Starfleet vessels available that could take me to the Gaudete system?"

The ensign immediately thought of at least four regulations that stated he was not required to comply with Captain Picard's request. However, he'd dealt with enough of these emotional humans to know when to accede. For he had grasped some of the nuances of this captain's statements.

"You will have the ship itineraries," Steck quickly calculated, "within two point four hours, Captain. Is there anything else?"

"No, thank you, Ensign."

"Sir."

"And Ensign, _thank you for your cooperation."_

Wondering if this was yet another example of human sarcasm, the ensign accepted the words at face value. "Steck out."

Picard clicked off his terminal, then noticed the time. Beverly would be off duty soon. And then she would be in her shuttlecraft coming home to Caldos, coming home to him. A month ago, he knew exactly how he'd have felt about Beverly returning to him. Joy would have been the dominant emotion. Today, his sentiments were far more turbulent and complex.

When they'd come to Caldos to live together in the cottage that Beverly had inherited from her grandmother, Beverly had decided that she'd take the CMO position at Starbase 24, one of the oldest active starbases of the Federation. It was also the closest Starfleet operation to Caldos, only a mere eighty-five minutes away by sub-light travel in her shuttlecraft. Having her own personal shuttlecraft had been part of the deal for Beverly's acceptance of the Starbase post.

Jean-Luc on the other hand, had decided to enjoy his leave of absence by working on a local archaeological dig, catching up on his reading, and finding the time to do all the things during the day that busy starship captains never had time to do.

As for what he did at night, his schedule was subject solely to Beverly's wishes whenever she was home.

Beverly chose to work a four-day-on, four-day-off rotating shift in order to have the time for Jean-Luc. Her schedule had once seemed important to both of them.

Now, Jean-Luc cynically wondered, what was the point. All of the old issues that had built the fortress walls between them, when he'd been captain of the _Enterprise_, and even before then, still existed. For a while, their physical desires had been enough to surmount that wall. But, bitter reality had returned. _Things were not working out._

He stood, and picked up his untouched, cold mug of Earl Grey, and placed it in the kitchen sink, reflecting upon his current way of living. When he'd come to Caldos, part of the agreement he'd made with Beverly was that for now, he'd do the housekeeping. It was his turn to fix their dinner. He wished it were possible to as easily fix their lives.

Thirty minutes later, aromatic vegetable soup was simmering, freshly baked loaves of caraway rye bread were cooling, and a Caldosian type of pear tart waited in the warming oven.

Jean-Luc filled a large copper kettle in the kitchen and then hung it over the parlor fireplace, as he remembered a conversation with Q that had occurred there.

Q had wondered if Picard could be _fun_ or could he only live a contemplative life. And for a while, Picard had been quite sure that he could lead a contemplative life. For eleven weeks, he had. But then, he found that his life was perhaps _too_ quiet.

Picard's search for remnants of Caldosian history had only resulted in a few unimpressive pieces of plain beige pottery shards. He had cleaned this somewhat primitive cottage with its eclectic collection of antique furniture, and other people's mementos. Sometimes he cooked. Sometimes he helped the villagers in exchange for home-baked goods and fresh vegetables, for replicators were rare items on Caldos. In and of itself, he'd found each simple task enjoyable.

But, during the past several weeks, he'd also found himself conversing with the few true friends that he had in the Admiralty. And he found himself during these chats, to be casually steering their talk toward his return to duty. Each and every time, for it didn't matter as to the identity of the admiral, they all avoided discussing Jean-Luc's career.

Jean-Luc Picard was not a man ignorant of the machinations of Starfleet and its politics. He knew what his friends were telling him by their silences. Once, he had lost the _Stargazer._ He'd almost lost his career then. Once he'd been _Locutus of Borg. _Too many superior officers had considered that to be the death knell of his career. But he had survived. Now, he had lost another ship, this time a galaxy-class starship, the pride - not to mention the flagship of the fleet - the _USS Enterprise 1701-D._

And this loss could be the final sin that Starfleet would not forgive.

He'd been surprised when he hadn't been court-martialed. He'd been pleased when the same beneficence had included Will Riker.

At best, his future held teaching at the Academy. _He wouldn't mind being a professor again. He'd enjoyed teaching in the years before his captaincy of the Enterprise._ At worst, he'd one day be promoted to the rank of admiral and be assigned to some finance sub-committee. Another possibility was to retire and become an archaeologist. _For Jean-Luc Picard now suspected that he would walk the decks of a starship as its captain, never ever again._

With all in readiness for dinner, Jean-Luc decided to walk in the herb garden that Felisa Howard had planted decades earlier. Jean-Luc was impressed by the condition of the garden when he had come to Caldos. Even though no one had lived in the cottage for years after Felisa's death, her neighbors had maintained the healer's beloved herbs and flowers out of respect for a lady that Picard now regretted never having met. Considering her granddaughter, the legacy that Felisa had left behind indicated how truly remarkable the grandmother must have been.

Jean-Luc was surprised to recognize how much he like strolling in this rambling garden, even bending now and then, to pull a weed or two. And at times like this, when the evening star was rising compelling the horizon to surrender its aurene hues to conquering indigo blues, he was almost at peace. He took a deep breath, appreciating a breeze headily aromatic with the perfumes of night-blooming flowers whose names he had yet to learn. _He did not doubt that Beverly knew all the names._

He moved slowly down the flagstone path towards a favored nook - a stone shelf supported by two weathered wyvern as its base. He found it ironic that Q had once accused him of having no sense of whimsy when his favorite place on Caldos, other than Beverly's bed, contained two of the most silly-looking mythical beasties he had ever beheld.

He sat down, admiring the garden and the view of green rolling fields, beyond the vine covered low stone fence. A man could think here. A man could look up at the stars here. And a man could wait for his lover here and dream of sensual things to be done in the night.

The breeze picked up as the night air grew chilly. So Jean-Luc picked a few china blue flowers for the white porcelain flower brick that Beverly kept on the dining alcove's table. And then he went inside to build up the fire in the parlor. Beverly was late. Usually, she'd make it home by twilight.

He settled down in his favorite armchair to watch the firelight dance about. A goblet of the local potent brandywine rested on the side table. _It wasn't quite as good as the many Château Picard versions, but it was quite acceptable_. An old, well-worn leather bound volume of Rainier Marie Riker's letters was waiting to be read. So naturally Jean-Luc promptly fell asleep.

A gentle touch upon his brow, the taste of his brandy on her lips, the sudden weight of her body pressing him down against the back of his wingback chair, disturbed Jean-Luc. He opened his eyes and was lost in the need of her gaze.

"Jean-Luc…" she whispered, her words making more of a demand than a greeting.

Now, Jean-Luc was wide awake. Beverly slid across his lap. And then she was facing him, straddling his hips, her weight resting on her knees.

"Beverly?"

"Hush, Jean-Luc. I'm hungry. I need you." She kissed him. He was quick to realize that her hunger was for more than bread.

Pleased, he followed her lead, his hands roving over her body, uncovering, searching, removing all immediate obstacles to their pleasuring, caressing her with a skill only learned from many hours that had already been spent in delight with Beverly. He was doing more than just acceding to her will.

She could feel the heat of him pressed up against her thighs as she tried to ride him through the fabric of his pants.

"Long shifts at the hospital?" he casually asked as he placed feather kisses across the angle of her cheek. He didn't give her a chance to answer, for his need overtook him. He claimed her mouth, his tongue plunging between her soft lips.

In response, she wriggled closer to him, pushing down his pants. She ached for him, throbbed for him, and was waiting to explode for him if he would just do something…

Bemused, he complied, not quite understanding her driving urgency, but accepting it. A jolt flashed through him at her touch of his manhood. Opening his eyes, drawing her bared body against him, he pressed his hand against her abdomen and stroked the tender skin. His hand moved lower, to manipulate moist flesh that greeted his fingers. She was ready for him.

"Beverly?" he mumbled against her neck as he eased himself into her sheath, nestling against her mound. He buried his face in her hair, breathing deeply of her subtle spicy perfume mixing with the scents of their bodies. His tongue touched behind her ear. She shuddered and then clenched about his cock. He was fully aroused now. And so was she. He moved slowly at first, lifting her up by the hips, to then drop her down against his manhood. Her neediness made him move more forcefully. She was not willing to dally. She was demanding immediate fulfillment. She cried out - a raspy sound against his cheek - when she got it. And then she melted against him.

Flaming need that was this hot was as quickly doused. Pinned by her body in their aftermath, he felt the ripples of desire ebb between them, as their bodies temporarily calmed. She rested against him in complete trust and acceptance.

"Beverly…" he groaned as she slanted her body against him, her weight shifting to now press against his ribs and hip. "Beverly…_ Mon coeur… Je t'aime… Je vous adore…"_

"I know, Jean-Luc. I know."

Only in the days to come would he remember that she did not respond in kind.

For a while neither spoke, only the tempo of their heartbeats bespeaking their feelings. Both lovers were trying to regain a semblance of their composure.

He studied her face, trying to understand why his beloved had needed such an untamed mating. Not that he was complaining for as a young man, he'd learned never to question _bon chance._

Beverly pivoted so that now she was squeezed next to his hip. Truth was she was a little taller than Jean-Luc. It was easier for her to nestle Jean-Luc against her body with his head resting on her bosom, than the reverse. Passion was one thing. Poking elbows were another. Besides, Jean-Luc had no objections to this comfortable position. Ever since he'd met her, he'd dreamt of the shape and texture of Beverly. Now her breasts were only a caress away. He was delighted that at least a few of his most hidden desires had now become a reality.

Between placing little kisses across the back of his head, Beverly finally paid attention to their surroundings. "Jean-Luc, you never told me where this armchair came from…"

"Actually Beverly, I'd rather consider this to be our loveseat…"

She stopped kissing him, momentarily taken back by his words. And then laughed - a low laugh revealing how pleased she was by Jean-Luc's sense of humor. "You're impossible! Did I ever tell you that before?"

He looked at her, properly trying to keep his eyes focused only on her face during their conversation. "As your former starship captain, you conveyed that message to me on a daily basis."

"I did not."

"Oh, Beverly…," he sighed. "You did too."

She pinched his rib. "About the chair?"

"Let's just call it a gift from an old friend and leave it at that." (_See "FIRESIDE CHAT" in the fanzine INVOLUTION 8 for that story_.)

Something about the way he said it made her suspicious. "Who gave it to us?"

"You really don't want to know."

She noticed the way he was observing her. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"A great hunger, Doctor."

"I turned off the cooker before I woke you up, but…"

"Wise lady." He interrupted her with a kiss. He stretched. This was an action which somehow ended up with Jean-Luc placing a lingual kiss in the valley of her breasts. He suddenly moved, shoving against her, sliding her down his legs to land with a plop on a foot stool. He got to his feet and reached down for her.

She knew what that gleam in his eye meant. "Jean-Luc don't you dare try to pick me up in your arms! As your doctor I expressly forbid you endangering your precious back…"

He only smiled. "Of course, Doctor." He drew her up into a tight embrace, clasping both her hands and guiding them up to rest against his heart. "Whatever you say, Doctor." He kissed her, a kiss full of promises of more kisses to come.

"Jean-Luc…" she warned.

And when she started to kiss him back, he swiftly picked her up, and threw her into a fireman's carry over his left shoulder.

"Jean-Luc! Are you mad? Put me down!"

"Mind your head," he warned, striding towards the stairs.

Suddenly she realized that she was cheek-to cheek, so to speak, with her superior officer. She started laughing to herself recalling Jean-Luc's high placement on the unofficial _Enterprise_ 'beautiful buns' top ten list. Upon closer inspection she decided that the callipygian cognoscenti had been right in their assessment of his assets. Wondering if Jean-Luc knew, guessing that if he did not know he'd be embarrassed if he found out, Beverly debated telling him. Meanwhile, she placed a few kisses here and there, and then nipped.

He stopped climbing the stairs. "Doctor, are you kissing the ass of your superior officer?"

"Yes, Captain. And if you put me down, I might even do some sucking up too."

If Beverly had been able to stare at his face instead of an upside down view of some portions of his genitalia, she would have been surprised to discover that Jean-Luc Picard could grin - and it was a very wicked grin too.

He snorted, slapped her fanny, ignored her squeals of mock-protest, and then moved as quickly as he could into the room at the left of the top of the stairs - their bedroom. He plunked his good doctor down on her ancestral mahogany four-poster bed.

She looked at him. She glanced down at herself. There were certain inequalities between them at the moment. She reached up and started tugging off the sweater that was his only remaining piece of clothing other than his socks.

"No fair, Jean-Luc. If I'm going to be naked in this big bed, you'd better be bare too."

Ever the gentleman he assisted her in taking the sweater off. "I will always endeavor to fulfill your wishes, Beverly."

She stopped moving against him, sensing that he truly meant those words. At this moment, they were both in accord with each other.

She reached up and stroked his jaw. "Jean-Luc…" Her voice held a wealth of promise of what was to come.

He leaned over her and kissed her, pressing her back against an ancient ecru Lindsey-Woolsey coverlet. She wrapped her legs about his hips. This surprised him. "Beverly, so soon?" He thought of all that things that he had anticipated doing to her before their next mating.

She reached between their bodies and stroked his cock, doing her best to revive his interest. "We can play - later," she explained before she bit his nipple. "I thought that you were _hungry…:_

He chuckled as he shifted to accommodate her touch. "So it seems, are you."

"Decades to atone for, Jean-Luc…"

Before he lost control completely, he softly agreed. "You are right. We really should have done this years ago…"

He loved her. He wanted to tell her so even as he lowered his body onto hers. He wanted to say the words that had been in his heart forever - more words of love and even of everlasting commitment. Instead, he kissed her back. It was a hot, wet kiss. He began to move his tongue to match the rhythm of his body, listening to the suck and pull of their coupling, knowing that he could not prolong this loving for nearly as long as they both would have wished.

Beverly caressed his head, then moved her hand down to the small of his back. With her other hand, she still stroked his manhood as he moved in and out, upon her. She tightened her grip on him, her legs hugging his hips and legs. Every muscle in her body was clenching, every iota of her being was focused on the point of his deeper and repeated penetration. At this moment he could have asked anything of her, and she would have given it. For he'd showed her the glory of what was to come. Now she was anticipating it, needing it, marveling at the miracle that this one man alone could bring upon her - upon them both. She recognized the patterns of his body's workings. She knew the familiar riding rhythm and subtle changes that took them upward from one stage of passion to the next, in this most basic of all lover's positions. Soon, he would do the unrelenting thrusting that she so adored. Rapidly the whirlpool of their feelings would spiral outward from that central point to reel out of control until they were both overwhelmed by its resplendence. She'd learned to anticipate the moment of his climax, and bring him greater pleasure by her own responses. They'd only been lovers a short while, yet they made love as if they'd known each other intimately for a lifetime - maybe even many, many lifetimes.

The shattering came as he guided her into momentary oblivion. She let him claim his passion. Then peace and joy claimed them both.

They got little sleep that night as their need for each other was absolutely overpowering at times. He was astounded by its depth.

Near dawn, Jean-Luc rose, finally letting Beverly stay sleeping instead of turning to her. Naked, he walked over to the window that overlooked the front part of the garden. For a while he stood there, watching the dawn, just thinking. Then he silently went to the clothes press and removed his running clothes from a drawer, then picking up a pair of shoes neatly stowed below. In the hallway he quickly dressed. He went down the stairs planning to put the kettle on, for this cottage had no replicator - just like his ancestral home at LaBarre.

Soon, their closest neighbor Ruby MacPherson would be coming with her daily delivery of bread. He chuckled to himself thinking of all the clothing strewn about the front parlor. Last night, they hadn't felt inclined to fold anything and put it away. He wondered what Mrs. MacPherson would make of the mess. He also knew what Beverly would make of it, if she found out that someone had seen the disarray before he'd had a chance to straighten it out. Her Nana had prided herself on the immaculate condition of her cottage. Jean-Luc had found it amusing that Beverly had still tried to maintain the cottage to her grandmother's standards. But from what Jean-Luc had learned about the lady by conversing with the villagers, he'd had a feeling that Beverly's Nana would not have minded the reason behind the mess.

He surprised Mrs. MacPherson in the parlor.

Trying not to stare or giggle at the sight of a man's undershorts caught under a needlepoint footstool, Mrs. MacPherson, an elderly lady with a forceful, cheerful and albeit nosy personality, raised up her arm holding a branch woven basket. "I'm surprised that you're already up. I just thought to bring in your bread and croissants, and those buns that Beverly likes, and not be disturbing you this morning."

Knowing that the only thing he could do was to politely make the best of an awkward situation, he formally replied, "Most considerate, as always, Mrs. MacPherson."

"Seeing how things are in here, I take it that Beverly is back."

Picard thought that the sight of Beverly's large shuttlecraft parked in the field beyond the house should have been a clue as to her arrival.

Ruby continued to inspect the disarray. "The kitchen needs a bit of straightening too."

Jean-Luc stiffened, withdrawing himself behind his invisible mantle of dignity. He was not about to explain to this woman, kindly neighbor though she be, about his 0200 raid on the kitchen with Beverly, and its amorous food inspired consequences.

"Do you want me to clean up a bit after such a long night? Beverly must be tired."

"It's kind of you to offer, Mrs. MacPherson, but the servo unit will attend to such things."

"Felisa would never have allowed such things in _her_ home."

"_Really_?" This rotund, diminutive and bossy next door neighbor presumed too much. Any former crewmember or officer, of the _Enterprise_ or _Stargazer_ would have known what Jean-Luc meant by the mere tone of his chilly, ever-so-proper voice.

Ruby MacPherson, however, was not intimidated by the former captain of the _Enterprise_. For Felisa had told her many things about this man. She put down her basket of bread and did not budge.

He stepped over to the outside door and held it open for the lady. "Thank you for the baked goods."

She walked to the threshold, her stiff woolen grey plaid skirt crackling with her every step. Undaunted, she continued, "As a good friend to Felisa, Lord bless her soul, I feel it only to be my duty to ask you as to when are you going to marry the girl?" Ruby MacPherson stood there, braced against the doorjamb, awaiting an answer to her question.

Picard was almost amused by the lady's determination to meddle. _She reminded him of a certain Betazoid Ambassadress. _Besides, it had been a long time since anyone had referred to Beverly as a _girl._

"Mrs. MacPherson, Dr. Crusher and I would prefer to keep our personal arrangements private." He said it quite politely, but not even this woman could be dense enough not to heed the sternness of his voice.

"As you say, _Mister_ Picard." She cast a backwards glance towards the parlor. "But whatever are you going to tell the children when they start coming, if you're not Beverly's husband?" With that she scurried down the path before he could think of a proper rebuttal.

He watched her walk away. For he had caught her use of '_Mister_'. He was suddenly glad that she was not a diplomat or a politician. She'd be a formidable foe. Then he considered her parting words as he shut the door behind him and walked out into the garden. "Children," he muttered. "I'm too old to have…" He stopped doing his runner's warm-up stretches. "Good God, Beverly is not." He glanced upwards at their bedroom window. "I never even considered the possibility…" _But there was a portion of his hungry soul that did want that possibility…_

A while later, after doing his usual run to the village, he stopped off to pick up some Irish black tea for Beverly, and some fresh vegetables from the local emporium. The proprietor, a Mr. Zahner Bruce, a portly brown humanoid of both Scottish and Elkanaan heritage, greeted Picard warmly.

The villagers of Inverfarigaig had welcomed Jean-Luc Picard for several reasons. First, it was because of consideration and deference for the Howard clan. Secondly, it was out of respect for the Starfleet officer that Jean-Luc was. And finally, it was because that on occasion, usually when Beverly was not on the planet, Jean-Luc Picard could be persuaded to tell a tall tale or two over a cuppa Earl Grey. It had been such a very long time since Jean-Luc had enjoyed the company of people who just simply liked being around him for his own sake. They would listen to his words with no hidden agenda or constraints of rank to bother them. He didn't realize how isolated he had become. Or how unaccustomed he was for simple human contact. Ordinarily, he would spend an hour or two visiting. But today the word that Beverly was back, and the details of their lover's reunion had spread quickly throughout the streets. No one sought to delay Jean-Luc this morning.

When he entered the cheerful rose and gold kitchen of their cottage, he saw sliced melon waiting on the alcove table. He could smell croissants toasting. Placing a tote bag on the counter, he went into the parlor looking for Beverly. He was amazed that she was up for if she'd gotten two hours of sleep, he'd have been surprised. He found her in his study. The moment he saw her, he knew that something was very, very wrong.

She stood at the sight of him, waving an info disc. She was madder than a wet Caldosian bred Scottish grey chicken.

"Beverly?" he quietly asked.

"When were you going to tell me, Jean-Luc? Or were you just going to pack your bags and maybe leave a note?"

"Beverly?" He wasn't exactly sure what it was that he was supposed to have done wrong.

"Here's the blasted routing to Gaudete II!" She smashed the chip on the desk top.

"Oh." He strove to be reasonable. "Beverly, they asked me to be an assistant director. _If _I decide to accept, I would be gone about fourteen to sixteen weeks." She was not placated. "I was going to discuss this with you last night. But we never really had a chance for dispassionate discourse last night."

In spite of her temper, she had to admit that he did had a point.

"All right. We will talk about this now." She sat down on the desk chair and crossed her arms, waiting for his explanation.

"Vash suggested…" The moment he said _that_ lady's name, he knew that he'd made a major tactical error. Beverly didn't say anything but the atmosphere in the room turned chilly.

"You've been communicating with Vash?" Beverly sounded as if she were merely interested.

Picard knew better. "She didn't want to do this dig herself, so she recommended me to Director Storal instead, citing my experience with Professor Galen." Picard laughed.

If it had been any other mortal, Beverly would have described that laugh as _nervous._

"Vash doesn't want to go on an archaeological dig with you?" Beverly tried not to sound too incredulous.

"I don't think that Vash cares for my moral convictions. Or the dent that I'll put in her profit margin by stifling her natural proclivities."

This Beverly could understand and accept.

"So, you're going?"

"I am not sure." He wanted to add that his decision to go depended solely upon her, but he wasn't sure if he should mention that now.

"What about Starfleet?"

"They do not have any immediate plans for my future, Beverly." He tried not to sound to resentful.

Beverly stood, her countenance softening, understanding the pain of betrayal that he could not help but feel over Starfleet's actions - or their lack thereof. She put her arms around his neck, and clasped him to her breast. "Whatever you decide, Jean-Luc, you know I will support you."

"But will you live with me?"

"We will have a home here, together - as long as you wish it, Jean-Luc," she pledged.

She kissed him. And kissed him again, promising to revive certain flames that had only been dampened and not extinguished during their long night of lover's bouts.

He stepped back, grateful yet still troubled by her efforts. He chose the path of least resistance. "I think we'd better have breakfast, otherwise I'll be of little use to you before this day and night is through."

She took his hand and let him into the kitchen. She picked up a jar of brandied strawberry jam. "We'll take our repast upstairs?"

Shivering at the thought of what she could do to him, deciding that he was up to the task, he put together a tray and followed his lady love up the stairs. He ignored the fact that they both were deliberately side-stepping issues about their relationship that needed to be resolved. But not just yet. For now, they were losing themselves in the desires of the flesh.

CONTINUED IN: THE BEST LAID PLANS: Chapter 2 - listed separately in the "M" listings


End file.
